The company rose and followed him to the dining room, where every arrangement spoke of order, consequence, and long-established authority. Servants moved with practised exactness; chairs were placed without hesitation; and the table, already laid, reflected that mixture of splendour and regulation which left no doubt as to the habits of the house.
When they were seated, Lady Catherine, without preface and without delay, directed the attention of her guests as she chose.
“Mr. Bennet, Miss Bennet, you will permit me to present my daughter, Miss de Bourgh.”
Anne inclined her head with gentle civility. There was in her countenance a softness touched with fatigue; yet her smile, though faint, was sincere, and Elizabeth, struck by its quiet benevolence, returned it readily.
“And Mr. Wickham,” Lady Catherine continued, her tone unchanged, “who has lately undertaken the living at Hunsford.”
At the sound of his name, Mr. Wickham rose and bowed. His manner was easy, his address perfectly proper; yet there was a degree of measured restraint in both, as if nothing in his conduct were left to accident.
“I am honoured, sir—Miss Bennet,” Wickham said, with respectful composure.
Mr. Bennet inclined his head. “The obligation is ours, sir.”
Lady Catherine then proceeded, with the same unhesitating authority, to arrange her table.
“Mr. Bennet, you will sit between Mr. Collins and Mr. Wickham. Miss Bennet, you will take your place beside Miss de Bourgh.”
The arrangement admitted of no appeal. Lady Catherine herself retained her seat at the head of the table, from which she surveyed both company and service with attentive command.
The first course was served without confusion, and conversation followed; yet it did not proceed at random. If onespoke, it was with a sense of being heard; if another replied, it was with an awareness—however slight—of being observed.
Elizabeth, though attentive to her hostess, could not but examine the company more particularly. Miss de Bourgh spoke little; yet her silence was not wholly unexpressive, and more than once Elizabeth thought she perceived in her a look of anxious reserve, quickly suppressed. Once, as Mr. Wickham spoke across the table, Anne’s hand—resting lightly upon her glass—trembled almost imperceptibly, and she withdrew it at once, as though conscious of having betrayed more feeling than she intended.
Mr. Wickham, meanwhile, accommodated himself with apparent ease to the tone of the table. If he spoke, it was with propriety; if he listened, it was with attention. Yet Elizabeth observed that, before replying, he seemed, however slightly, to attend to Lady Catherine—as though her approbation, though unspoken, were not indifferent to him.
Mr. Collins, on the other hand, appeared divided between admiration and effort. The consciousness of his situation, joined to the presence of one who had supplanted him, gave an unusual stiffness to his manners, though he laboured to conceal it beneath expressions of satisfaction.
At length, Wickham addressed Elizabeth with measured politeness. “The neighbourhood of Hunsford, Miss Bennet, though modest in extent, affords, I believe, some agreeable prospects. Should you have any inclination to see more of it, I should be happy to be of use.”
“Your offer is very obliging, sir,” Elizabeth said, with a slight smile, attentive rather than decided, “and we shall hope to profit from your knowledge of the place.”
“Also, my first service will be held tomorrow,” Wickham continued. “It would give me great satisfaction if you and Mr. Bennet were present. It is always a comfort to begin among those disposed to judge kindly—though one must endeavour, of course, to deserve it.”
Mr. Bennet regarded him for a moment with quiet interest. “A fortunate beginning, sir,” he said. “Though I imagine kindness is most safely relied upon where it has not been previously engaged.”
There was the slightest pause, in which Wickham’s composure did not fail, though it appeared, for an instant, more carefully maintained than before.
“We shall consider it with pleasure,” Mr. Bennet added, as if nothing further had been intended.
There was a short silence, during which Mr. Collins seemed to collect himself with visible effort. At length, as if compelled alike by propriety and by his own sense of consequence, he spoke.
“Mr. Wickham,” Mr. Collins said, with studied composure, “I congratulate you upon your appointment.”
Wickham inclined his head. “You are very good, sir.”
The civility was correct; yet it admitted of no extension.
“I have always held,” Mr. Collins continued, with an earnestness which betrayed more exertion than ease, “that her ladyship’s judgement must be regarded with the highest deference; and whatever her decisions, they are undoubtedly guided by the most proper considerations. I esteem myself fortunate in being received at Rosings under such distinguished patronage.”
He concluded with a slight bow toward Lady Catherine, whose expression, for a moment, softened into something nearly resembling satisfaction.
“So we are entirely understood, Mr. Collins?” Wickham said, with calm attention.
“Perfectly so, sir,” Mr. Collins replied. “I harbour no resentment. A less reasonable man might have been otherwise disposed; but I am fully sensible of the honour of this occasion, and grateful for the reception afforded me here.”
He raised his glass slightly, in acknowledgment rather than display.
